A/N: In light of getting a very meticulous review about my methods (and a really long one at that), I just wanna say a few things. I am in no way an expert about this historical period. I did look up how it was and wrote down a few things, but I've also missed many other things about it. I am also aware that this is in no way an accurate representation of how it was back then; I know that Sakura couldn't have done half the things she's done in my fanfic if it were accurate, but here's the thing: it's my fanfic. Of course I'm sugar-coating everything. Please, if you truly disagree with my writing, stop reading.
That being said, I wrote this in just over one week, way faster than chapter 2. I just wanted to update again before I inmerse myself into studying. Chapter 2 was intense and so will this one, so get ready.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Your comments make me smile.
I will be having Naruto come into the story soon too, for those who are wondering, although it might not be how you guys expect. The excitement is real.
P.S. 200 ft is the height of the smallest pyramid, for reference. Remember that the castles back then had walls surrounding them that came from as low as the water if needed be for extreme protection. They were tall.
Let me know what you think about this chapter! I'm not v happy with it but I'm tired of editing tbh.
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Samurai are warriors, born and raised as one, dead as having lived the life appointed to them.
They can't own land, they can't rise in the ranks more than a few steps from what they are born into, and they can't live far from their lord's castle—one of the main reasons why the center of every village was overly crowded all the time.
Samurai were what they were from birth and birth only, and there was no way to get out of the situation. Some held positions high enough to meet face-to-face with Daimyō, and some held positions so low that they did not even fight, but helped harvest crops with the farmers.
Still, Samurai, right after fighting continuously in a Civil War neither lost nor won, were regarded as just one step down from Daimyō, a very high status in itself. Farmers, merchants, and traders stood at the bottom of the hill by default.
The first thing and foremost quality in a Samurai was honour. It wasn't written in a book, or manuscript, or piece of cloth; it just was.
Sakura knows this by heart. Her father had trained since birth in the art of the Samurai—had trained her, too—had lived his life amidst a war in his home country, and had led several armies before his time had simply run out. The war took him, as it had taken so many of their neighbours and friends before.
Sakura knows this by heart. She's always been the Haruno clan's only descendant. That's why her mother had agreed upon a marriage proposal to Sasuke—back then, just an important warlord, but even then, more important in the ranks than a warrior; that's why Uchiha Itachi had bothered to look in her direction in the first place. Haruno Kizashi had been the Shogun's closest confidante before his passing, and there had been something in Uchiha Itachi's eyes the first time he visited their small, humble home, that let her know immediately.
As a woman, she couldn't truly continue the Samurai bloodline in their clan, so it was just pure logic that she married into royalty to make up for it—something unheard of, for the most part. Her mother had paid for all the classes, all the hours spent trying to learn the ways of a dutiful wife.
She would really never have it in her to complain.
This is all she thinks about on the way back, hand still holding tight to his robes.
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She remembers getting home, getting out of the carriage and walking rather quickly and shakily to the front entrance. The heavily guarded, two-hundred-feet-tall walls around the compound make her feel less vulnerable, as if the few people at the establishment who had managed to see what was happening couldn't see her now, trapped behind the safest fortress in the country. But Sasuke quietly trailing behind her until they reach their bedroom is a constant reminder of what she had done—of what had just happened.
She remembers entering her bedroom a walking mess, her blue and red kosode—representative of her husband's clan colours and dyed just for her—carelessly open on the first layer by the loose sash, not taking five steps inside the ample room before she has to stop completely. Her hair hangs low in a sad mess from where it had been at the top of her head before the altercation. Her hands are still shaking from the courage she had had in her to run away. Her eyes are bloodshot red with the want to cry but the clear refusal in her brain about the action.
She thinks then, without a doubt as she stands with her head low, that since she hadn't received her punishment back then, she must be definitely getting it in the private confines of the bedroom where no one but Sasuke himself can watch.
But Sasuke closes the door with a definite click she hears echoing, and he walks past her ashamed form without a word from his lips.
Sakura stares at his back until she feels he's going to realise she's drilling holes on the fine silks he's currently taking off at the foot of their bed.
She looks back down to the floor as if it's unbelievable, as if his silence is mocking her one way or the other. And she doesn't know what's worse: the fact that Sasuke doesn't want to comment on the topic or the idea that she probably looks like a trembling lamb waiting to be slaughtered without an idea of exactly when.
She may be no Samurai wife, but she is a Samurai's daughter, and she knows that death is only a dutiful requirement she has to fulfil if the situation calls for it.
When a breeze moves past her and sways her hair out of her face, she looks up again and finds Sasuke on the other side of the room. He stands inside their shared bathroom, bare as ever, with the door not completely slid shut.
She moves her gaze away from the man and shifts in her feet uncomfortably, knowing full well what she has to do. She's not about to sit and wait for some kind of sanction for her crimes after he takes a soothing bath.
Suicide was a common ritual in the nation, were any Daimyō to order it so. He had not ordered her to commit seppuku, but she would if he did, no questions asked. After all, her husband was what she would live for for the rest of her life, as decided by the nation and fate itself, and she couldn't ignore how she had failed her only reason to live considerably.
Sakura lands her eyes on the two swords her husband takes with him everywhere—as every other Samurai he trains does—placed on their bed under his pillows. While Sasuke waits for the water to heat up in the large and rounded wooden bath, she takes the steps necessary to reach the expensive mattress. And while she has her back turned to him, she takes it upon herself to grab the smaller of the swords—the dagger, reserved only for taking one's life.
Sasuke might not have ordered her to do it—yet, she thinks—but Sakura knows what is expected of her, and her family would not appreciate it if she continued living by such dishonour. Her father would not permit it from beyond the grave, that she knows for sure.
So she grabs the small sword and sits on the tatami floor, legs under her and back straight, the bed directly in front of her. She opens, layer by layer, her kosode until she can see her chest bindings and her bare stomach, and takes off every pin that holds her hair in place. Her light hair touches the floor behind her in small waves—the pins making the slightest noise against the tatami—as she points the dagger at her bared abdomen in finality.
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and relaxes amidst her doubts. The pitiful image of a Shogun's wife on the floor of a public building, exceedingly bowing in front of her husband as a silent request for mercy, makes her resolve harden even more.
It's for her family, for Sasuke and his reputation in a nation he has to lead, and for herself. She must do what she must do, and there is nothing on her mind when she makes the final decision and moves her now-steady hands inward, toward herself.
This is when Sasuke crouches behind her and grabs hold of her small wrist, not letting her plunge the metal into her skin completely. The tip of the dagger is only touching her skin enough to make a small puncture, so small that only a little trail of blood comes out and moves down her stomach.
She gasps, the air knocked out of her as if she had been physically punched in the gut, even though she hadn't even done anything to herself. She had been ready to do it, she had been mentally prepared for this, trained like everyone else in this matter. She knew she could have done it if he hadn't stopped her; she had moved her hands so fast she doesn't understand how Sasuke could have halted them at the exact moment the dagger met her skin.
But he did, and now she can only look down at the barely-there trail of blood seeping from the puncture, the dagger still in place and not moving from the pressure of both of their hands holding it in opposing directions.
She doesn't know if it's a joke; if she had misunderstood and Sasuke had been the one who wanted to end her, so now he wouldn't let her end her own life because of it. But it's none of that as Sasuke commands to her, clear and loud behind her, like the leader he is.
"Drop it," he says, the heat from his still-naked body transferring into her back from the close proximity. "Sakura, drop it now."
Sakura wants to, but she also wants to end this right here and right now, so she still struggles against his strong hold even if she has no chance against him. This makes him hiss behind her slowly, his hold bruising her hands at this point.
She's definitely testing his patience, but even as he wants to forcefully move her hands away from her person, he knows that one wrong move could prove to be fatal. After three cups of pure alcohol, he's not exactly in his right mind, either, and he'd rather not push his luck.
"I can't," she gasps out, her eyes watering in the heat of the moment with unspilled tears. "I have dishonoured you and your family, as well as my own. In that way, I have also dishonoured all of Fire Country, so I rightfully deserve this retribution," she ends, choking audibly on thin air and causing her stomach to contract and expand quickly, making the dagger move into her skin even more. It's a superficial cut and she knows this, but it hurts her terribly for some reason.
"You don't want to do this," he says, sounding so sure of himself that she wants to question his motives for saying so, something she doesn't have to wait much for as he explains it a second later. "We both know I'm supposed to watch you, and yet you sit giving me your back."
She widens her eyes greatly, her faulty plan having been exposed by his calculating mind. It's true, she had been ready to end her own life but not ready enough to let him see her do it. It was the way of Samurai to force every person present in the room to watch the ritual, but she hadn't done it. She hadn't done it.
The shaking returns to her hands.
"Let go, and maybe we'll talk," he warns, voice low and dangerous, and if it weren't for the knowledge that he is her husband and her superior in every sense of the word, she would have plunged the knife all the way in anyway, nevermind his wants or orders.
But he is her husband, and he clearly knows she doesn't want to do it, much to her displease. So she drops the weapon instantly after his clear warning, hands going to the base of her throat as she starts to wheeze and vomit nothing but air.
She was a dishonourable wife and now she was officially a cowardly one, too.
Sasuke stands and heads for the bathroom again, cleaning his weapon with a damp cloth as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, but she pays him no mind, coughing and closing her eyes as tight as she can to ground herself once more to this reality.
When Sakura feels like she can breathe again, she starts composing herself by drying her eyes with the back of her hands, which are red and bruised from his previously strong hold. She moves her hands through her hair in an attempt to comb it and closes her kosode tightly around her body again.
She stays on the floor for what seems like a lifetime, just looking at the foot of the bed and breathing harshly, until Sasuke comes out of the bathroom and lays his dagger next to the long sword again, pausing for a moment to look at her fragile figure and walking back where he came from.
"Come," he orders, moving to finally sit inside the bath of warm water, said water reaching the middle of his toned chest and making him sigh in relief.
He had been testing the water and filling up the bath when he'd turned, surprisingly finding his wife on the floor in front of their bed, hands hidden from view and legs tucked under her. He'd first thought she was sitting so as to lie down on the bed, but it hadn't really made sense in his brain at the moment, so he had looked at the bed itself and found his answers there.
It had been a miracle he had noticed the absence of one of his swords on top of the bed when he'd looked over her, and it had been much more than sheer luck when he had stopped her from doing something they would have both somehow regretted.
The alcohol still swims slowly through his eyes when she finally enters the bathroom in small steps, hesitant and fearful. It had been a long day; too long, in his opinion, for her. So he motions her forward and looks up at her, arms extended on either side of the circular barrel and knees bent, legs open.
They were united in everything but blood, so there is no shame in him when she quickly glances between his legs and away.
"You think you dishonour me," he says, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the edge of the wood. "Why?"
It's hard to tell whether he's being sarcastic or rhetorical, or if he's genuinely asking, but as she stands there looking at anything but him, she goes for the latter.
"A man of a higher rank than myself tried to inflict himself upon me. I did not let him, and he embarrassed me in front of everyone at the table—possibly everyone in the locale, too," she speaks, finding her courage as she remembers exactly why she had decided to take her life so adamantly earlier. "Not to mention that your accords about Shaiga's Bridge with the men there were null by the end of the day. And if that was not enough, your reputation in Konoha might be at risk as well for sparing my life."
She finishes her explanation with a shaky exhale, tightening her fists and hugging herself, keeping the layers of her clothes closed in the process.
"A man of a higher rank..."
She looks at his face, still relaxing absentmindedly against the bath, not looking like he had been listening at all. The steam in the small room is now clouding her vision, but she stands her ground and waits for his reply.
Something crosses his eyes as he opens them to look up at the ceiling, and Sakura gasps when the unexpectedly calm words fall from his lips.
"My brother meant the world to me, but he was not enough for one country, regardless of what people may say about peace," he murmurs, head moving back up and eyes shifting to her face for a long moment.
She feels what is left of her breath being knocked out of her when her mind processes the words. He had shut her out so many times in the past about this topic; had refused her comforting touches amidst his vivid nightmares countless of times; had blanked out every time someone mentioned his older brother to anyone else in the past three years.
But now, for some reason as she stands over him on the bath, he talks about him like he's a natural, recurrent topic between them. It baffles Sakura and leaves her confused altogether, and she almost misses his next words if it weren't for the fact that he shifts in the water before he speaks, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts.
"Take off your clothes," he nonchalantly says, patting the edge of the bath at his side with his closest hand.
The words fall from his lips lazily, tiredly, as if he doesn't want to say them at all. She acquiesces the request no matter the volume.
She takes off the layers of silk and lets them fall to the floor without any sense of seduction in her, only a bit of curiosity. The look in his charcoal eyes is a tired one, and he has not made any efforts to have her in an intimate way since their wedding night, so there are no doubts that he was going to now.
Soon, she stands naked amidst the heavy steam—leaving steadily out the thin door and into their bedroom—and sits on the edge of the bath, turned toward him enough to be almost completely facing him. Her hair falls over her shoulders and covers most of her front, making her look some kind of special in the steam from the heated bath, and Sasuke averts his gaze rather quickly.
He moves his eyes away from her own and down her petite body until he reaches the small injury on the upper region of her abdomen. His hand moves on its own accord, tracing the dried up blood and erasing it from her skin with his damp fingers in the process. The cut below her ribs can't be seen anymore, proof that it had been a superficial cut, maybe so much so that they can put this behind them for now.
The pain is dull and almost not there, not nearly enough to make her hiss or hurt terribly, so she only looks down at him from her position and takes him in while he's not looking: the long eyelashes, the damp black hair reaching a little past his shoulders now that it's damp, the calm and collected stare as he traces his thumb down her stomach and a little past her bellybutton.
Sakura speaks because she can't stand the silence. It's the water moving as he shifts and the calculating look in his eyes that make her ask, simple as is, straightforward.
"Why not?" She whispers. There must be a reason why he thinks that his brother—the man who could finally stop the incessant fire in her country, something no other person had achieved before—had not been a good Shogun. Sasuke, surprisingly, answers her without preambles and in complete sentences for once.
"The Daimyō have been commanding and following commands ever since Itachi became Shogun and ended the Civil War in our country," he says, so low she has to lean her body closer to hear it, hands gripping the edges so as to not fall in. "But the Emperor himself named me Shogun when he died in battle, and I reserve the right to govern over every Daimyō in the nation."
She listens carefully, finding it a little hard to focus on his words when his thumb is tracing circles on the sensitive skin at her navel. It's the most she has heard her husband speak toward her—or touch her like this, for that matter—and she doesn't know if it's the alcohol still in him or not, but she grabs the opportunity as fast as lightning.
"Why have they been holding so much power up until now, then?" She asks, genuinely curious as she has always been about this new military government—the Shogunate— that started for the first time with the Uchiha clan a few generations ago.
Her husband's eyes soften imperceptibly because he understands she has been sheltered from the way Fire works now—politically, anyway, as every woman usually is. So he speaks, without any tricks up his sleeve or any carnal desires, and Sakura obeys him with a certain kind of excitement in her movements.
"Join me," he says, motioning to the water and moving his legs to one side so she can extend hers on the other. It's an invitation from his side, one she gladly accepts. He talks in dry and short sentences for the next twenty minutes, but still enough to let her know about how the system works. He talks and lets her ask her questions, and she moves their scented bar of soap against his skin in return.
As Sakura looks at her husband being uncharacteristically patient and understanding with her after she had sunk so low a few hours before, she realises she's glad he had stopped her. She hadn't wanted to do it, and he had known right away.
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Ironically, Sakura's mother visits her exactly a week later.
It's early morning, so early that the sun has not even risen yet, as has not Sakura, but her mother shows up at the front door anyway. Very unusual, so to say, because she had not even tried to visit before; not even once.
She disregards the maids telling her to wait in the lobby, and goes up the stairs to where she knows her daughter is—from past letters where she had described the castle's structure.
In no way will she knock, much less enter, but she waits by the door, looking down from the railing of the stairs and upon the height three floors represent. The workers seem much less intimidating from this position, she thinks.
She waits only five minutes—and she would have waited even more if the occasion asked for it—because Sakura opens the door slowly, eyes glazed over by sleep and small feet covered in light pink socks. Her eyes don't exactly look to the right where her mother stands. She just simply walks to her left, rubbing her own arms to fully wake up once and for all, dressed in a thick white robe from neck to toe.
Sakura's mother sees after her, a surprised look on her face. And as soon as she clears her throat loudly, Sakura turns and looks, and uninterested turns into shocked from one second to the next.
"Mother?" She asks, frowning ever so slightly at the image of her mother standing on the third floor of the castle—the third floor in which no one could ever dwell in for too long when both of them were in their room.
Sakura had woken up and sat up on her bed, sleepy and tired but in need to use the bathroom. When she had approached the bedroom's bathroom, it'd been no surprise when she heard Sasuke showering. They were expected to shower every single morning, but they never did it at the same time, despite the rather intimate bath they had shared a week ago.
So Sakura had gone out of the room and walked to the bathroom down the hall, but never would she have guessed her mother would be standing right outside her door.
Yet, there she stands, beckoning her only daughter to move closer.
"Mother, you never mentioned any upcoming visits in your last letter," she says, finally reaching her mother and standing in front of her.
Her mother inspects her from head to toe, taking in what three years have done to her once-adolescent daughter, eyes lingering for a little too long on the unwelcomed flatness of her stomach.
"I haven't seen you in years, come give your mother a hug and stop questioning me," she says, leaning in and embracing Sakura in a tight hug.
Sakura doesn't really respond at first, feeling too out-of-place at the start. Eventually, as the feeling becomes more familiar, she feels her eyes watering for only a second, and then she finds herself hugging her closest relative back—the only relative left.
"I've missed you too," she whispers again her neck, sighing at the forgotten feeling of having her mother so close, the one who raised her until she had to give her away to the Uchiha clan, the government, and the country. Sakura forgets, for the time being, of how her mother had agreed to the marriage in the first place; there was no use in dwelling in the past, especially over something that couldn't be changed at all, really.
A dark thought crosses her brain at that moment, as she embraces her mother as much as her frail arms let her, and it doesn't surprise that it terrifies her greatly. If Sasuke had not stopped her last week, her mother would have come to the castle only to find her gone. With all her flaws and imperfections, she knew how much she loved her only daughter. She would have been devastated.
They let go and her mother, ignorant to Sakura's thoughts, smiles gently, moving the rose stray hairs away from her line of vision.
"You have changed, Sakura. Look at your face! Uchiha-san has been treating you accordingly, yes?" She asks, moving her hands along Sakura's arms and testing the flesh there by squishing here and there. "You must not lose any more weight, understand? I can feel your bones, and that's not suitable for childbirth."
She wants to roll her eyes, but a sound to her right makes Sakura's fake smile falter.
"Mother," she whispers under breath, mindful of the door she hears shutting loudly inside her bedroom. "My husband is inside the room right now. He can not see you here. Please, wait for me on the first floor."
Her mother snaps out of her smile and flickers her eyes toward the door to her left and away. She seems conflicted and reluctant, not used to her daughter telling her what to do, but she goes down the grand staircase in any case.
Sakura opens the door of her bedroom when she's certain her mother has at least reached the second floor, sliding it shut behind her quickly and looking at Sasuke. He's dressed in formal clothing for reasons she does not know yet.
She stands in front of the door for a long time before he takes notice of her presence. Sasuke glances her way as he moves his tunics around, the Uchiwa symbol proud on his back and hat high on his head.
"What's the occasion?" She asks, feeling particularly bold. That night was progress, right? They hadn't really seen each other much ever since, due to Sasuke spending most of his time outside the castle, but it should have been, unless he didn't remember any of it from the alcohol.
He seems to, for he answers almost immediately, although it's not exactly how she wishes he would have.
"You're forbidden from coming near the West wing of the first floor," he announces, placing his thick obi in place around his hips. "I will be conducting a series of meetings."
She quickly bows her head, muttering an affirmative and relaxing her stance when he spares her a fleeting glance and nods.
She doesn't know why she speaks again, much less why she mentions something so unnecessary, but she does it anyway. Part of her feels more at ease around him, and part of her feels apprehensive still. But she wants them to move forward, her brain keeps emphasising the importance of progress, so she speaks loud and clear, even if he doesn't appear to hear her.
"My mother has come to visit today. I will spend the day on the East side with her, my lord."
He doesn't look at her as he passes her, opens the door, and leaves. But he does mutter a soft prayer under his breath when he departs, and she stays curiously looking at the door for a long time after that.
"Make sure you do."
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Sasuke sits on the floor of one of the empty West wing rooms. Specifically, the room that sits on the corner of the Northwest side of the castle. He slides opens one door that leads to the outside and waits, sitting with his legs tucked under and gaze hard-set on the gardens past the door.
The message had been sent five days prior to the meeting, two days after the incident at the Geisha gathering.
There should be no problems with anyone receiving it if his messengers were of any worth to the title. He had talked to one of his advisors so that he would send the several messages immediately while Sakura had been asleep, unaware of anything and peacefully dreaming on her side of the bed.
Someone opens the door to his left. He moves his head slightly to the sound, letting the person at the door know he's listening, but his attention remains on the gardens ahead of him—ironically, it's Sakura's blooming garden which stares back at him in this part of the compound.
"My lord, all Daimyō have arrived at the castle. They await your instructions," his advisor says, clipboard clutched in his hands and glasses low on his aged nose.
Sasuke nods, his semblance appearing quiet but lethal, prepared for what he has to do. "Lead them here. They should come in one by one through that door," he lifts his hand and points to the opening in front of him, letting it fall under his royal robes after the man understands.
His advisor scurries away after bowing several times, closing the door behind him and delivering the news to every important feudal lord in the entirety of Fire Country. Some had travelled for a few hours, some others had travelled for several days.
Sasuke doesn't particularly care. He's glad all of them had arrived, end of story. If even one of them hadn't shown up, the man would have been killed in his sleep by one or two of his Samurai, no question about it in his mind.
As it is, he patiently waits for each Daimyō, and one by one, he tells them the same thing. The same message he would tell them all, a warning noticeable enough in the low timbre of his tenor; after much debate over two restless nights, he knew he had to do it.
"I am your superior by birth and by the Emperor's wishes," he starts, voice deep and unwavering, touching the hilt of his sword from under the layers of clothes in case of anyone being so unfortunate as to rebel against him. They wouldn't last a second. "I shall therefore treat all Daimyō as my subjects for the better future of Fire," he takes a deep breath and momentarily pauses in doing so, noticing in every Daimyō a certain level of alarm, of fear. This has dragged along for too long, he knows, so he keeps talking regardless of what they may think of him.
He says the words they so much fear because he knows he has been unforgiving enough. The events that took place last week proved it that way, and this was the only way to salvage his reputation as the country's military leader—as so gently put by Sakura—and his marriage vows. By now, elders in his clan's council have already talked about his wife's mistake, and he can not let them take her away from him once more, as they have done with others. He had made up his mind from the moment he first laid eyes upon her—no more wives, no more legal complications, no more wasted time playing romance.
"My brother did rule this country the best way he could, but he was far too lenient on these matters. Those of you who wish to disobey this may quickly return to your villages, pay off your debts, and wait for me. I will act accordingly."
No Daimyō dares to oppose him. No one but one.
It's (unsurprisingly) Nakamura Nogi, the second to last to go inside the room and talk to him face to face, who opposes to his final say in the matter.
Sasuke doesn't dare move when he enters and bows, but he clearly sees how Nakamura visibly flinches when Sasuke does not even attempt to return the gesture.
He sits regardless, and as Sasuke tells him the same he has told the previous Daimyō from every district in Fire, he sees how his face starts to shift slowly. His jaw locks, his eyes harden, and his fists tighten on top of his thighs, covered by silks that could rival Sasuke's in design and elegance.
As soon as he finishes talking, Nakamura audibly snorts and looks at him as if it's all a joke, obviously remembering the events that had transpired the week before—something that Sasuke had hoped he would omitt from the conversation.
Sasuke carefully watches him, not really giving away the small fire burning inside of his being at the audacity of this man. He had threatened him before, he was now giving him one final warning, and the man had the nerve to laugh in his face.
His fingers wrap slowly around his hidden weapon.
"With all due respect, you may have the effects of the alcohol still in you, my lord," Nakamura comments, weaving a hand through his smooth hair and not even looking at Sasuke.
He swallows.
"I think you are stepping over a fine line here, Nakamura," no honorific, no respect, just authoritative commands from now on like it's supposed to be. "I would suggest you accept and go home at once before I change my mind."
He looks at Sasuke, then, and smiles without any semblance of actually finding the conversation funny. The air is filled with tension and contempt around them, and Sasuke narrows his eyes at him and the knowledge that the other Daimyō wait outside for completion of this official gathering. This behaviour must not pass by quietly, or else every other feudal lord will decide to disrespect him whenever he sees fit.
Still, he listens attentively and gives him plenty of time to take it all back.
"I can not accept. You must understand why," he says, looking right through Sasuke's plans. "Might this be your way of covering lady Uchiha from the country's curious eyes? Have you developed enough feelings for your wife that you can't watch her die honourably?"
Sasuke stays silent. He's been giving him way more than enough time to retract his words. Even if he apologises and bows down completely flush against the tatami mat, Sasuke doesn't think he would forgive him by now.
"You may be Shogun, but your brother and all before him were Shogun too, and none of them did what you are," he explains, his tone lowering with each word until, finally, he murmurs words for only the two of them, taking Sasuke by surprise. Words that make Sasuke decide his verdict, watching as a wicked smile traces the older man's lips. "You should know she opened up to me in more than one way. Before, that is, she tried to escape. A pity, if you ask me; I had no intention of taking her from you."
Sasuke stands at the same time he takes out his sword. He has the edge of the polished metal against his neck in one heartbeat, a snarl curling the edges of his lips down.
Nakamura is still smiling, doesn't even flinch at the contact, and Sasuke is pressing the sword and moving it forward as it starts going through his neck when he speaks.
"Uchiha-sama, you may have to consider this further. Out of all the Daimyō outside, I am who governs Konoha, capital of Fire and main village of operations."
Sasuke considers no more. If he had talked to him so disrespectfully from the start because he was sure Sasuke wouldn't end his life, he was very wrong. Another man will rise to occupy his place, and he will make sure the body disappears, only sending a letter to whatever is left of his family with the unfortunate events.
He frowns ever so slightly down at Nakamura, caramel eyes staring right back up with a dark kind of mirth in them. His face is slightly average in the good looks, but his features are ageing quickly and his personality almost reeks of confidence and arrogance, and Sasuke has no doubt in his mind that this man couldn't have possibly done anything to or with his wife. She had personally told him, too, but he can confirm it now—he would have killed him long ago if it had been any other way, this he knows with certainty.
Sasuke takes a deep breath through his nose, loosens his hold on his weapon, and moves it away from his neck slowly. There is a fine layer of sweat on Nogi's forehead, indicative that he was nervous behind all that conceit and pride. As he moves his sword away, he can see the relief crossing his face in small waves.
"A decision has been made. I fear your time has run out, my lord," he mocks him one last time, raising his voice so as to alert the large group of fellow lords outside. They do, some peering around the door and some downright moving in front of it to see more clearly. One of them gasps, but it is lost to Sasuke as he focuses once again on the man below him. "I henceforth end your ruling in this life, and in the next, for opposing to my simple laws and my ruling."
He still sees the pride in his eyes the moment before the sword goes through.
The blood splashes his fine tunics and his neck in small blotches, but he stands and watches the head fall until he is sure the man is dead for eternity. A man of a higher rank, no more.
He looks at his Daimyō, all motionless and bearing practised faces, devoid of emotion, as he silently and carelessly drops his weapon next to the detached body.
"Let this be an example to anyone else who would dare disregard me."